Monday, 22 November 2010

                              Me and my best, and the poem he sang/read to me on a pavement floor

 The Highwayman, Alfred Noyles  
The wind was a torrent of darkness upon the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding--
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn door.

He'd a French cocked hat on his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of fine doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his boots were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a jeweled twinkle--
His rapier hilt a-twinkle--
His pistol butts a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

Dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked
Where Tim, the ostler listened--his face was white and peaked--
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the landlord's daughter--
The landlord's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say:

"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way."

He stood upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of perfume came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his reins in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon.
And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,
ribbon over the purple moor,
The redcoat troops came marching--
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord; they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed.
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets by their side;
There was Death at every window,
And Hell at one dark window,
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had bound her up at attention, with many a sniggering jest!
They had tied a rifle beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the dead man say,
"Look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."

She twisted her hands behind her, but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it, she strove no more for the rest;
Up, she stood up at attention, with the barrel beneath her breast.
She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again,
For the road lay bare in the moonlight,
Blank and bare in the moonlight,
And the blood in her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot tlot, tlot tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hooves, ringing clear;
Tlot tlot, tlot tlot, in the distance! Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding--
The redcoats looked to their priming! She stood up straight and still.

Tlot tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment, she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight--
Her musket shattered the moonlight--
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him--with her death.

He turned, he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the casement, drenched in her own red blood!
Not till the dawn did he hear it, and his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon, wine-red was his velvet coat
When they shot him down in the highway,
Down like a dog in the highway,
And he lay in his blood in the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still on a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,
When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
When the road is a gypsy's ribbon looping the purple moor,
The highwayman comes riding--
The highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard,
He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred,
He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter--
Bess, the landlord's daughter--
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.



                                                                          My loves

Thursday, 21 October 2010

Tweeting away...

I have just joined twitter and if I am honest, cannot get enough of it. Now I am following the likes of Nicholas Kristof, the economist, Heidi Montag and Lauren Conrad. Cool eh? Begs the question, are these 'celebs' real? I mean following Spencer Pratt, the devil reincarnate, has resulted in a lot of pointless, unfunny droaning from the supposed Mr Pratt. Yet upsettingly, there has been little mention of Heidi or LC... bummer.

Don't judge me. Please.

hmmm... cute.

Wednesday, 13 October 2010

Jai Paul-BTSTU

After my first ever blog-praising Alaska in Winter's beautifully haunting song, Berlin-I now have space for a new leader on my itunes playlist (Berlin is still up there, I would say number 2.) Jai Paul's outstanding song BTSTU, is virtually unknown. Available for download on, it has fast become one of my favourite songs of the year. Jai Paul is an unsigned artist, who should-and fingers crossed will-be celebrated as a British musical gem.

The song has a slow start and gradually a beat makes its way in. Suddenly the minimal beat progresses, leaving the listener with a delicious mess of electronic excitement. With background sounds, comparable to gun shots from a futuristic saga game, and his gentle, almost feminine voice whispering in the background, he has created-in my eyes-a catchy masterpiece. The combination of pop, hip-hop and electro, has admittedly been done before, but Jai Paul has created something that is entirely unique. Undoubtedly cool-BTSTU and Jai Paul- I'm sure this guy will make his stamp on the quirky music scene.

Click here to hear his song


I've had an amazing summer, I went to Berlin (to see the smelly Jamie), Kefalonia with my mum for my 21st, Brittany avec la famille (excluding brother Teo, instead including best pal Charlotte) to see my baby nephew Johan, the south of France with my ENTIRE family (on my mums side) which was er...boozy and interesting, and bestival, good music, good friends, too much mud and too little hygiene. Here are some photos of the best bits…

The beginning of the end...

I’m now going into a new academic year, which is also the end of an era. 2010 is the last year of what will soon be 18 years in education! Shit?! Final year of my degree, a frightening thought most would think, but I am surprisingly nonchalant about it. I have joined the Brighton University newspaper, The Verse, as the (co) news editor. It is exciting and looks pretty good on the old CV. Ben (my co-editor-we are both third year and thought it would take a little pressure off each of us) and I have appointed Soph to write an article (her idea) on which charity is best. We told her what we are looking for, and she is getting it done. Ben and I are then going to focus on our preferred charities and write a brief section about them. I have started writing mine on Amnesty International, summarizing their work and attempting to recruit readers to support their causes.
Gen (features editor and friend) and I have also been put in charge of organising a launch party for the magazine. It will allow us to gain support from local businesses, show that the verse has changed and is back (and better), and recruit writers for the paper-but lets not forget to have loads of fun.
At the same time as this, I am attempting to write my dissertation (on the BIG subject of pornography.) The books and articles I have been reading are brilliant, and completely support the argument I am trying to make.
At uni, we are currently studying Marxisms…notice it is the plural of Marxism, so not just good, fun old Karl Marx, but the different theories emerging from his works. I won’t deny it, but it can be ever so slightly dull, but I am trying to embrace it and feel that the works of Marx are definitely something worth knowing.
It is all go and very interesting, but it is early days….soon I may be crying because I will be swamped with work…or maybe it’s about time I was!

Tuesday, 9 February 2010

G20 Protest

Egon Schiele

I have been leafing through photos from my 2008 summer trip with Charlotte (and various other friends) and feel it deserved a bit of recognition on my blog. I had the most incredible time, starting at Boom festival in Portugal - the two photos immediatley below - travelling down through Spain into Morocco, finishing in the Sahara.

The Atlas Mountains

Me riding a camel into the Sahara desert

Monday, 8 February 2010

Mousetrap Medias

So this week I am trying my hand at online journalism. I arranged work experience with, a website stemming from the company Mousetrap Medias. is an online networking portal for journalists all over the UK. I have been given the task of recording UK journalists 'smart moves' to alternative jobs and have written my first blog for their website about Thomas Reuters illicit pay cuts and prevention of staff twittering about their work place.

I look forward to what other tasks they give me throughout the week!